


we will always meet again

by snapfreeze



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: F/F, Nobody Dies, clarke is worried and lexa is being a cocky shit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-28
Updated: 2016-03-28
Packaged: 2018-05-29 18:24:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,160
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6387646
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/snapfreeze/pseuds/snapfreeze
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clarke and Lexa find each other again after a battle.</p>
            </blockquote>





	we will always meet again

**Author's Note:**

> a/n: thanks to zhe-end for the fantastic procrastination material (http://zhe-end.tumblr.com/post/141757086442/there-should-be-stars-for-great-wars-like-ours)

No matter how many times Clarke stumbles onto a battlefield after the fighting ends, she will never get used to it.

Her medical kit hangs uselessly from her fingertips as she squelches her way through the thick mud, blood-rich and hearty from the sheer volume of corpses bleeding into the ground. Carrion crows circle overhead, laughing in delight as they survey the magnitude of their next feast. They’ve been well fed recently, and the bodies of the not quite dead moan and cry out for help so as to not fall prey to these scavengers.

Not far from her, a man, whose guts are peeking out through the gaps between his fingers, convulses violently. One of the healers behind her moves to kneel beside him, whispering reassurances in trigedasleng. He shakes his head and presents his knife shakily to her. Clarke looks away.

She knows that there are many others to tend to, and that she should be doing so now, but there’s someone that she needs to see before she can fully focus on her duties.

Distantly, she can just make out the remnants of the Skaikru forces returning from their vantage point. Clarke can just make out their faces and does a quick headcount, sighing in relief when she finishes. Most of them have made it out alive, and that will sustain her until she settles the main pit of fear in her gut. She picks her way across the field, squinting through the haze of smoke that lingers over the ground stubbornly.

It takes her fifteen minutes until she finally spots a familiar face.

“Octavia.” The warrior whips around, a small smile settling on her face at the sight of her friend.

“Clarke! It’s good to see that you’re not hurt.”

“Same to you.” She nods, clasping Octavia’s proffered forearm tightly. “Have you seen- “

“The Commander’s alive. She’s somewhere back near the trees, giving out orders for the injured and the ones who surrendered.”

Clarke nods. A wave of relief rushes through her, and the constricting bands of fear around her chest loosen. She won’t be completely free until she can actually see, _touch_ Lexa, but it’s a start. “Thanks, Octavia.”

Octavia gives her one last nod and leaves. With renewed vigor, Clarke sets off towards the nearby copse of trees. She doesn’t have to go far until she hears the person that she’s been deathly worried about for the past day.

Lexa is still quite assuredly in _Heda_ mode, her commands short and sharp and loud. Around her, her guards and all else who are able scramble to obey. Clarke quickens her step, jogging in her haste. She pushes through the crowd, offering half-hearted apologies and nods of acknowledgement when soldiers call to her by her title. She doesn’t stop until Lexa finally comes into view.

What a sight she is to behold.

Clarke watches the adrenaline of battle ebb away through the shaking of her limbs, her eyes glassy and unfocused. The Commander’s nose is quite clearly broken, and black blood stains her skin from the deep cut on her cheek. One of the sleeves of her battle coat is in tatters, as if someone had tried to shred her whole limb off. Clarke can also make out a dirty bandage wrapped hastily around her thigh.

Yet she does not falter, nor show any signs of the pain that she must surely be in. Her posture is as authoritative as ever, and the tilt of her chin serves to remind people of who she is, and what she has just accomplished.

The Commander catches sight of Clarke through the throng of people, and her demeanor instantly changes. Lexa hobbles as fast as she can towards Clarke, and Clarke does the same, breaking into a run. They meet in the middle and Clarke throws herself at Lexa. Lexa responds just as eagerly, scooping her wife up in her arms and hoists her off her feet despite the stabbing pains erupting from the arrow wound in her leg.

Lexa’s neck is damp with sweat but Clarke doesn’t care, burying her face against the skin to hide the few small tears leaking from her eyes. She can feel Lexa’s uneven breathing, and the small relieved _Clarke, Clarke, Clarke_ being whispered reverently into her hair swirls around her until it’s all she can hear. Lexa is so warm, so very _alive_ _,_ and Clarke finally feels the last of the crushing weight lifting from her chest.

Eventually, Clarke slips down until her feet touch the ground but they do not part fully, only pulling back enough so that she can take a good look at her wife.

Even underneath the layers of paint and armour and grime and responsibilities, Clarke catches Lexa shining through. She can see the weariness on Lexa’s face in the crease of her forehead and the droop of her mouth, but the adoration in her eyes is unmistakable. Strong, lithe arms wind around her waist, pressing them together and one of Clarke’s hands settles on Lexa’s shoulder as the other grips the other woman’s chin lightly.

“Next time there’s a breach in the line, can you please not charge in to save the day with only a handful of soldiers?”

Lexa smiles as best she can; she had anticipated this berating. “There was no time to waste. They would have broken through.”

“You promised me you wouldn’t do anything stupid. _That_ qualifies as stupid.” Clarke pokes Lexa’s chest sharply. The cold feeling of dread that iced over her when she heard of Lexa’s move over the radio is still too recent to forget.

“You doubt my prowess in battle?” Lexa teases lightly, reassuringly. “You _have_ seen me fight.”

Clarke grumbles. “Stubborn. We’ll talk about this more when you’re not leaning on me for support.”

Lexa chuckles lightly, leaning down to take Clarke’s lips in a gentle kiss. Clarke melts instantly, the worried slant of her mouth turning soft and forgiving. It never progresses further, both of them simply content to feel each other, to bask in the knowledge that once again, life could not tear them apart.

She pulls away after a while when she notices that Lexa is struggling to breathe right. Lexa refuses to move far, their foreheads and noses bumping together as Clarke coaxes her to calm again, one hand stroking the baby hairs at the base of Lexa’s neck. They both know that they’re pushing the limit of the amount of affection that they should be showing outside of their private rooms, but neither has the heart to disentangle themselves from the little bubble of peace that seems to have settled over them.

Clarke knows that they will be separated for many days to come; Lexa with her generals and advisors, Clarke tending to the hundreds of injured and dying. But for now, as the sun finally emerges from behind the clouds, they can savour each other, just for a while longer.

**Author's Note:**

> rip jrot, cause of death: the public dragging at wondercon


End file.
